The Sparrowhawk Collective

Domicile Piece by Blair Ryan

I spend more time in this room without a bed than I do where I sleep, this room with a view of the street. When the panes of the window are wet I know to take my long, black, Eddie Bauer trench coat because it’s raining sideways and an umbrella won’t do enough.

I found this wooden table and set of four hand-painted and upholstered chairs on Craigslist. You can see the original green layer under the black paint in places on the backs of the chairs. We picked it up with a friend’s minivan, from a house in a neighborhood full of houses I’ll never have enough money to live in.

A few nights ago, I thought I was reading on the couch in the living room, but I hadn’t turned the page in a while and for the first time was aware of and annoyed by the ticking analog clock over the sink here in the kitchen. I guess I wasn’t really reading.

There are many superfluous items on the counter that my housemates insist stay on display. Identical teakettles occupy two stove burners. Only one is used. Empty tins are granted space because of their exterior design, despite their lack of functionality. We drink espresso from standard mugs, but miniature cups with tiny spoons sit on top of the microwave. They accumulate dust and have to be moved every time I put away the cutting boards. If my mum lived here there would be foil lining the burners. I often say I’m going to put some down.

Postcards from Arizona, Disneyland and Joshua Tree National Park collage the front of the fridge. Three parking tickets are displayed, a demonstration of open resistance by some friends to the two-hour curb in front of our apartment. Hand-delivered guides to finding God in just ten steps have accumulated under a bicycle magnet with the phrase, “Put the Fun Between Your Legs.”

The dishwasher leaves food particles inside drinking glasses. If you take something out of the microwave before the cycle completes, it continues when you shut the door, nuking the empty compartment. Cheerios and raw pasta noodles make up most of what is swept into the dustpan. The fruit bowl is constantly overflowing. Bananas and plums at the bottom of the pile are frequently forgotten and have to be removed by paper towel. A glass as old as I am sits in the drying rack – The Oregon Invitational 1986 – I found it at a thrift store in Tigard for fifty cents.

It is in this room I wonder how much of my life will be spent waiting for files to upload, transfer and render. Hours fly by when I edit photographs after shoots. It is home to Apple products and design magazines.

My favorite mornings are when I can sit at the table, watching the drops hit the window, drinking espresso from a mug, in my pajamas, listening to Pandora radio. The best evenings are when we’re home together and pull the table away from the wall, bring desk chairs from our bedrooms and cook chicken with onion potatoes for friends we invite for a last minute family dinner.